


I'll Say It When You're Sober

by neverminetohold



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunken Confessions, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In my 80-plus years going on forever, I've learned one thing the fast and hard way: the door, lock or security system to keep Josef Kostan out has not yet been invented. Probably never will. Riddled with silver buckshot as I am now, I dare say that's a very good thing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Say It When You're Sober

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taste_of_Suburbia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/gifts).



Mick felt the burning in his veins getting worse with every step that brought him closer to the safety of his loft.  
  
The soft light of the lamps hurt his eyes, and it sounded as if the cars were rushing past not on the streets below but right beside him. All his senses were on high alert, vamp survival instincts screaming for blood.  
  
Even better, the familiar corridor with its photos and paintings had a soft tinge to it, a fuzziness around the edges. A little like being dead drunk. On some vampires, silver had the most curious effects, aside from the whole 'killing them slowly' – business.  
  
He fumbled with the door, hands numb and shaking. His elongated nails left a few scratches in the wood. Finally getting it open, Mick literally fell inside, right into waiting arms. - It was far less romantic than it sounded.  
  
"So this is what a winner looks like," Josef quipped, taking the damage done in with a quick look. Mick's leather jacket was riddled with holes. "Do I want to see the other guy?"  
  
"Lee's dead."  
  
"Well done," Josef mock-praised. He was probably still pissed at Mick for not dealing with the matter earlier, because of him wanting to spare Beth's 'human sensibilities.' "We really wouldn't have wanted the likes of him to join our exclusive club."  
  
Mick managed to right himself and made a beeline for the glass full of blood that Josef had prepared for him.  
  
If there was one thing quicker than texts, WhatsApp and the Internet as a whole, it was the old-school vampire community bush telegraph. A big undead family, with Josef as the stern patriarch at the top and the Cleaner the prime enforcer of their few rules. Judge, jury and executioner, if need be. Guillermo provided the blood and Logan was at hand for emergency relocations. It worked, somehow. - They had even taken care of Mick, stepping in before he could go rogue, after Coraline had fucked him over and then neglected her sire responsibilities out of spite.  
  
The A-positive was stale, right out of the cooler, but it was also salty, sweet and with a hint of spice, the taste far more complex than the simple copper a human would ascribe to it. Mick swallowed it whole in greedy gulps, holding on tightly to the glass that was slippery with condensation.  
  
It helped him heal, enough so that he could get a grip, felt his pupils dilate and fangs retract, the come and gone sting in his gums. Everything went back to feeling muted, turned down, the smells, the noise from outside, the light - except for the raging fire in his back.  
  
"Josef --"  
  
Mick trailed off, his ears picking up the determined gait he had come to associate with Beth. He froze like a deer caught in the headlights, mouth smeared with blood, already imagining the horror scenario of their secret being discovered.  
  
Seconds later, there was a firm knock on his door, the one Mick had not bothered to close, too focused on his gnawing hunger - but Josef had.  
  
"Mick! Are you all right?" The screen showed Beth, a little disheveled but none the worse for wear, looking straight into the discreetly placed camera. "Mick! Please let me in. I need to talk to you."  
  
"Want me to roll out the red carpet?" Josef asked, looking a little out of place in his crisp suit. "You look like you could use a woman's touch to get all that buckshot out."  
  
"Are you kidding?" Mick showed him his palms, the cuts already closed, and gestured to indicate the drying spots on his collar. "How would I explain all this?"  
  
"Do you want to? We both know she's interested."  
  
Josef was right. Mick had smelled it on her too, the change in her hormone level when she stood beside him, the first traces of tart chemicals that translated into sexual attraction.  
  
He had even thought about it, for a minute or two. Beth had grown up, into a beautiful, intelligent, and strong woman. But Mick couldn't see anything other than a little girl, cowering in a corner, when he looked at her. It would be wrong.  
  
He would always be there to protect her, but getting her involved in his world would be beyond selfish. Not to forget dangerous and not what he wanted anyway. She had her own life. Josh was a good man, and likely to propose to her in the near future.  
  
"No."  
  
Another knock, less confident and loud now. Beth was close to giving up, would soon turn around and be gone, until the next time they ran into each other on a case.  
  
Josef nodded, now busy with laying out the contents of Mick's first aid kit. "Are you sure?"  
  
400 years of accumulated 'them vs. us' paranoia and stone-cold business sense, and Josef Kostan was still no closer to convincingly pretending that he didn't care for anyone but himself. Or maybe he had become just that much of an open book to Mick. It happened, when people had sex.  
  
Mick was tempted to roll his eyes, but the light-headed fuzziness was creeping up on him again, so he didn't. "Yes, I'm sure, you jealous bastard."  
  
"Hey, I'm just asking. We never said we'd be exclusive." Josef shrugged. "Get rid of your shirt and sit down here, tiger."  
  
"I thought that went without saying."  
  
"Always so old-fashioned. But don't worry, I'll keep it in mind." Josef arranged his tools within easy reach. "In fact, I'm flattered."  
  
"You should be."  
  
Mick ripped the ruined fabric apart, tossed it aside, and settled on the high bar stool. The light over the kitchen island was angled just right to catch reflections in its steel tapware. That way Mick could brace himself on a slow exhale as Josef picked up the scalpel.  
  
Cool fingers began to trace along his back, slow and methodical, locating the first buckshot fragment. The cut burned and went in deep, with no regard for severed tendons, muscles, or nicked arteries, a fact the former WWII medic in Mick resented a little. Not that it mattered. As it was, Josef had to hold the wound open to keep the flesh from mending, then began to fish around with a pair of tweezers.  
  
It felt like someone raking dead leaves in autumn. Mick's protest at the rough treatment came out as more of a hiss than an actual string of creative swear words.  
  
"Now, now, no need to snarl at me like a terrified kitten," Josef chided. "I'm trying to be quick and efficient about this."  
  
"Oh good," Mick forced out between clenched teeth. "I was beginning to think this was your idea of torture."  
  
The rest of the procedure turned into a painful repetition of the same four steps - cut, spread, fish, pull out - over and over again, each time followed by the sound of a piece of buckshot hitting the bottom of a china bowl. It was half-full by the time Josef finished.  
  
By that point, Mick's head was swimming and felt as if stuffed with cotton. He had no earthly idea how Josef had managed to feed him more blood, fully undress him, carry him up the stairs, and then dump him into their double-sized freezer. He only knew that, when he came to again, for a certain value of the word, he tasted fresh A-positive on his tongue, was naked, pleasantly cool, and trying to turn into an octopus.  
  
Josef bore his attempts to crawl inside his skin with long-suffering grace and amusement. Mick was beyond caring, nose buried in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of rich decay, expensive aftershave and plain Josef-ness with an addict's relish.  
  
"Mick, it's no use. You can't snort me like a line of coke."  
  
"You smell so good," Mick informed him with a drunk's disarming earnestness and tried to hug him closer. A chuckle rocked him gently, making the world spin a little. "Really good."  
  
"The things you say, and you can't even blame the pain killers."  
  
"Not blamin' the silver," Mick slurred with a frown. This wasn't the poison talking and it suddenly seemed very urgent to impress that fact on the older vampire. So he poked him just below the ribs. "Love you, not Beth. Know that, right?"  
  
"God, you're one sentimental sot," Josef complained. "Hey!"  
  
He slapped the fingers away that tried to drill a tunnel into his side, straight towards his heart. He had to, because now that Mick had started, he seemed to lack the coordination or will to stop, like a giddy child.  
  
"Love you. Come on. Say it."  
  
Josef went for the sure-fire method of shutting Mick St. John up and kissed him, licked his lips, that still tasted of blood, and into his mouth, until the confines of the industrial freezer echoed with a moan. It petered out into a happy sigh and then light snoring, which suited Josef better than Mick starting to serenade about his feelings.  
  
He himself rarely said it in so much words, what Mick meant to him, and he wasn't going to waste the honest to God phrase of 'I love you' on someone unlikely to remember.  
  
Besides, if Josef knew anything for sure then it was this: There would always be another night.


End file.
